jfORACE G.WlLLIAMS 




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Book^liiSTS 



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906 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




I am yours for the smiles that are finding a vent 
From a heart overflowing with Life's sweet content 



Things Worth While 

A VOLUME OF VERSE 

ILLUSTRATED 



By 

HORACE G. WILLIAMSON 

Author of " Old Hollyhocks and Other 
Poems and Recitations" 




PRESS OF JENNINGS & GRAHAM 
CINCINNATI, OHIO 



ft?'"'eived 

JUN 3 1906 

<X, Cc, No 

W Gil 

COPY B, 






\ 



\c 



Copyright, 1906, by 
Horace G. Williamson 



DEDICATION. 

This book I dedicate to my friends, my 
many friends, who have given me the inspira- 
tions and help in digging up some of the 
things worth while. 



PREFACE, 

It is good to wish for much, expect every- 
thing, and be thankful for what you really get. 

The greatest lesson we learn in this life is 
to appreciate our own conditions, and then to 
help others to see the best of theirs. 

After all we are only human beings, de- 
pendent upon each other entirely for the sus- 
tenance of this short existence, and a kind act 
contributed occasionally to the fund of happi- 
ness will in time reflect back to us from the 
smiles of our friends. 

No matter how humble we may discover 
our lot to be when we step from the cradle 
into the path of responsibility, there is still a 
fair world about us, where a fountain of con- 
tent flows always, the waters of which are free 
if you care to drink. 

You may accumulate all the gold in the 
world, you may attain all the honors possible, 
you may appear to your fellow-men a very 
king, to be envied for your great distinction, 

5 



Preface. 

your masterful mind, your physical strength, 
or your daring courage; but if down in the 
silent chamber of your own conscious soul 
you fail to hear the songs of the birds in the 
branches above you, are blind to the beauties 
of the flowers around you, are dumb to the 
presence of an Almighty God whose benedic- 
tion is in the kiss of the very breeze that fans 
you, then you have lost life's reality, you 
have missed the things worth while. 

There is so much to claim as a birthright, 
there is so much to leave as an inheritance, 
and though our accomplishment be ever so 
small, let us express ourselves in some way to 
show our appreciation. 

I should like to think deeper than I can, 
I should like to write clearer than I do, I 
should like to be better in everything that I 
attempt, but I have done my best, I have tried 
to be understood in these simple verses, which 
are the cold printed plan of my own feelings 
and imagination, the best expression I can 
give to my own thoughts; you are free to have 
yours regarding them. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Things Worth While, - ... 9 

Life's Reality, 10 

Jest Satisfied, 14 

Along in May, 16 

A Toast, 19 

The New Trail, - - - - - 20 

The Reply, - - - - 24 

Make Good, 26 

You Never Know Who You Ride With, 27 

It 's My Wish, 28 

Relics from Babyland, 29 

Longing, 31 

A Boastful Miss, 32 

When My Dream Comes True, - 33 

The Rain Barrel, 38 

Home, 39 

How It Feels to be Alive, 40 

Taken Back, 45 

Checkers, 46 

Out t' Uncle Ben's, - 49 

An Old Apple-Tree, 54 

Mother, 55 

7 



Contents 

Page 

There 's So Much to be Thankful For, 56 

Their Equivalents, 57 

Bill Hardy's Barn, - 58 

A Woman's Thoughts, - ... 67 

Memories and I, 68 

Violets, 69 

The Fiddler's Old Violin, - 70 

One Year Ago, 76 

Jones, 77 

When the Dawn is in the Sky, - - 78 

My Room, 80 

Pity Them, 81 

A Joke, 82 

A Rose and a Sea Shell, 83 

I Knew He Would Come if I Waited, 85 

Pictures We Paint in Our Mind, - 86 

Mid the Daises, 91 

Gee, but It 's Great to be Crazy, - 92 

Dressed in Brown, .... 98 

My Flower, 100 

When I was a Kid, ... - 102 

Evening, 104 

The Face the Fairies Formed, - - 106 

His Mother's Face, - 108 

At Mechile, 110 

My Mother's Wedding-Day, - - - 112 

It All Comes Right in the End, - 114 

Parting, 116 

8 



Things Worth While 

To LOOK and see the beautiful 
This world holds to the view; 

To listen and to hear the songs 
Which Nature sings for you. 

To taste the sweet, of all you eat; 

To smell each fragrant flower, 
To know, to feel that God is real; 

To live within the hour. 

To love one who deserves your love; 

To face all with a smile; 
To reach a goal by trying hard; 

These are the things worth while. 



LIFE'S REALITY. 

All there is that is good is for us to enjoy 

If we will but open our eyes; 
From the sweet-scented, flower-decked green 
of the earth 

To the cloud-scattered blue of the skies. 

When good health is a friend you can trust 
to be true, 
Then no matter what fortune might say; 
All the pleasures worth while are of access 
to you, 
Even gold can not steal them away. 

Yes it pays just to live and to love and to work 
And to sing and to dream and to dare ; 

Yes it pays to look up at the stars and to know 
There 's another world waiting some- 
where. 

It is good to admire the rich gains of our 
friends, 
Nor to envy them even in shares; 

JO 



It is good to compete with the failures we 
meet 
Until our own earned wealth equals theirs. 

There is value to nothing, unless we have 
toiled 

By an action or thought to make ours ; 
It 's to anticipate and to long and to wait 

For a view of our dream's castle towers. 

The poor man with a care and it's not the 
rich heir 

Who enjoys his possessions the most 
For the pleasures and play in his one holiday 

Are far more than a king could well boast. 

To be able to see the wild birds in their glee, 
To be able to hear their sweet song, 

To inhale the pure breeze off the old orchard 
trees, 
Is worth living for all this life long. 

For the hard lots that fall to the most of 
us all 
Are only the soul-trying test; 
We will find fate a friend if we stay tb 
the end 
And it all will work out for the best. 

ii 



So just laugh when you 're glad and just smile 
when you 're sad. 
Do what's right and make well of your 
years, 
And you '11 reap with the rest all the pleas- 
ures that's best, 
There will be no more time for the tears. 

There ' a heaven for all when the last 
trumpets call; 
There 's a heaven where sad sorrows cease ; 
Where the beggar and king both drink from 
one spring 
On the side of the foot-path to peace. 

So do n't worry, do n't fret, it is well to 
forget 
All the trouble and pain of the past; 
Just think of those who are much worse off 
than you, 
Then unfurl Hope's new sail from your 
mast. 

Yes, unfurl the broad sail to the blast of the 
gale, 
Though it blow you to East or to West; 
Be content with your lot whether lofty or not, 
Remember; 'God knows what is best' 

12 



Let your conscience be pure, with a will to 
endure 
When the storms of adversity rage; 
Let your strength and your stress be to make 
a success 
Of what you write down on life's page. 

It 's a privilege of earth, we inherit at birth, 
To lay claim to the best that we can; 

And much pity on him whose dull vision 's 
so dim 
That he 's blind to the blessings of man. 

All there is that is good is for us to enjoy, 

If we will but open our eyes; 
From the sweet-scented, flower-decked green 
of the earth 

To the cloud-scattered blue of the skies. 



*3 



JEST SATISFIED. 

I AIN'T no man ter try an' be 
Any more than what yer see ; 
I always had my own idee 

As ter the way of livin'; 
The world do n't owe me nothin' yet ; 
Ner I Ve got nothin' ter regret; 
An' I ain't one ter stew an' fret 

'Bout what the Lord 's a givin'. 

'Cause if ter-morrow 's goin' ter be 
A day of rain, why rain suits me ; 
Might jest as well at fust agree 

With minds of higher reason 
Though if the birds air goin' ter sing 
An' the sun shine down on everything 
As purty an' as fresh as spring; 

I 'm equal ter the season. 

I do n't go much on wealth ner fame ; 
I git along about the same 
A takin' care of my good name 
Than if I owned the nation : 



I '11 leave them fer another man 
Ter take his share, with more brains than 
I might boast of, an' who best can 
Fill in the situation. 

I 'm livin' fer the good I git 
Out of this life, with jest a bit 
Of the bright sunny side of it 

To act as sort o' flavor, 
An' when my time is nearly done, 
With jest a little sand ter run, 
I do n't think that yer '11 find me one 

With debts of bad behav'r. 



15 



ALONG IN MAY. 

ALONG about the first of May, 
On Saturday afternoon, we '11 say, 
When all the office work is through 
And there is nothing else to do 
But go a-fishing up some creek 
A little ways, just so to speak: 
Where timber-land allows your pick 
Of a real good strong sapling stick 
For a pole ; take a ball of twine 
To serve you as a fishing line 
When it's bedecked with hook and 

weight 
And also a fat squirming bait 
That's liable to tempt the eye 
Of any fish that's passing by: 

There 's nothing that so quickly serves 
To put a callous on the nerves 
Than this, if you are thus inclined, 
When in your idle hours to find 
A quiet spot and lazily 
Forget that there happens to be 

16 



A world of worry, noise and care 
Beckoning o'er the hill somewhere; 
Of imitations and false stress 
Marking an age of great progress: 
Just harmlessly a-lolling there, 
With all that feeling of "do n't care," 
Within the shade along some stream 




ji%.- ^-^ ^.^--'-^''^^^-^^ 



*&*& 



Where fancy now can court her dream 
Uninterrupted by the sound 
Of noisiness anywhere around: 



It makes a fellow feel as though 
The time was his, and he could throw 
Away some thoughts which schooled him in 
Those lessons of all that's been; 

2 IJ 



And now that he is going to share 

The freedom of the fragrant air 

Which comes to him as down he lies 

Upon his back, with dreamful eyes, 

And looks up through the fresh young green 

Of trees, where bright blue skies between 

Lift high his inspired soul to see 

A visionary eternity. 

How God's great orchestra of birds 
Sing sweet to him, with blended words 
In language strange, that does express 
The fullness of such happiness; 
While now uncalled will surely come 
To him, that low and doleful hum 
Of honey bees when in wild quest 
For pleasures, to their interest, 
Leaving behind them on the air 
A trail of music everywhere: 

How the brook will laugh for him 
And playfully bubble o'er its brim; 
And the riffles' soft, sweet refrain 
Will soothingly remind his brain 
Of mother's song, sung soft and low 
In those old days of long ago, 
When his heart beat but frankly knew 
No contrast for the pure and true : 

18 



There 's no place where a fellow can 
Lay aside the formal man, 
And give forth free an earnest vent 
To all his stored-up sentiment, 
Better than with a fishing pole 
To be a-loafing 'round some hole 
Along the creek, hid from the eyes 
Of this old world, where he can size 
Up all his past, and then express 
The limits of his thankfulness. 



& J> 



A TOAST. 

Here 's to every human soul 
Upon this earth, from pole to pole ; 
To every race on land or sea, 
To young and old of each degree: 
Here 's to all that live, and may 
Some happiness be theirs to-day. 



19 



THE NEW TRAIL. 

The following poem was written as a tribute to Captain Jack 
Crawford, the Poet Scout, whom I liken to a bottle of carbonated 
sunshine, always on tap, and ready to burst forth and bubble over 
the hearts of all who hear him, with the sparkling soul-essence. 
(His reply to the author is also printed here.) 

Well, Captain Jack, I Ve heard you talk and 

tell in your own way 
Of how the things go on out West, and I just 

want to say 
Without a boast of flattery, that I think you 're 

about 
The best that I have ever heard, beyond a 

single doubt: 
I Ve had a taste of West myself, and know a 

little how 
It ought to be out there, although Ohio claims 

me now: 
But there is nothing I know of that I would 

rather do, 
Than turn my horse into the trail that follows 

after you. 

20 



There 's no road in the "Rocky Pass" I think 

could ever be 
Too rough to risk, if you were there to bear 

me company; 
There 's not a range of "Buffalo Grass" or 

"stretch of alkali" 
That ever would be hard to ride if you were 

just close by : 
With grub-bag and a saddle tied on an old 

"XV" brand, 
A pair of "chaps," a buckskin coat, a "pop- 
gun" close at hand, 
I think that I could loose the rein and for a 

year or two 
Out there in God's free country, shift 'round 

awhile with you: 
To have you at the big "round-up;" why I 

can almost see 
In my imagination how the whole thing ought 

to be. 
We 're down there by the Rio Grande upon a 

cold clear night, 
The stars are twinkling far above, the moon 

is shining bright, 
The camp-fire is a blazing and the boys are 

sitting 'round 
A-leaning on their saddles that they 've placed 

there on the ground. 

21 



The coffee-pot is boiling while each man has 

fallen to 
His "hunk" of meat or "flap jack" or per- 
haps he is most through 
And they are all a-listening to you telling them 

a tale 
In your own cheerful way about a new un- 

ridden trail 
That leads from Earth to Heaven by the way 

of yonder blue, 
And every man can ride it if he makes his 

mind up to. 
"Just drop the old bad habits, boys, leave off 

the drink, the swear, 
Stick firmly to the saddle, and you 're bound 

to get up there. 
And boys, ah! what a land it is, as you have 

never seen, 
Where scout and cowboy are as good as royal 

king or queen, 
Where every chap will get his dues for all the 

good he 's done, 
And life will be eternity of peace to every- 



one." 



You Ve told them of their Heaven, Jack, and 

if you could lean near 
To every face around that fire perhaps you 'd 

find a tear. 



22 



You Ve touched them on the tender spot be- 
neath the shirt of blue 

Where every heart beats an applause for such 
a friend as you. 

The silence followed by your speech continues 
quite a spell 

Unbroken, save the crackling flames and far- 
off coyotes' yell; 

Yes, Captain Jack, I Ve heard you talk and 

tell in your own way 
Of how the things go on out West, but closing 

this I say: 
There 's stories that you Ve never told of 

scouting you have done 
For souls turned off "The trail of God," — I 

know there 's more than one. 
But when the time comes for your ride into 

that camp above, 
There '11 be a lot to greet you there with 

friendship and with love, 
And as your old time "pals" you meet, they '11 

slap you on the back 
And say, "Thank God, he 's come at last, wel- 
come our Captain Jack." 



23 



THE REPLY. 

Friend Horace: 

As your other name is Greeley, 
I will tell you frankly, freely, 
How your broncho verses snuggled in my 
breast 
For I Ve got a sort of notion 
That they stirred up more commotion 
Than the red-skins ever stirred out in the 
West. 

But a very different feeling 
Now comes softly o'er me stealing 

Till the briny starts a leakin' from my eyes, 
While my soul is irrigated 
And with yours amalgamated; 

You great big chump he-angel in disguise. 

Glory, but it 's satisfaction 

That my simple double action 
Broncho medley of song and story tells, 

For the gem your soul has spoken 

Is to me a God-sent token 
Of the genius and the pow'r that in you dwells. 

24 



Let 'er out, though wild and woolly 

Even slinging slang is bully 
If ye only hit the bull's eye, when you shoot. 

Do n't wet-blanket your emotion 

Hunting for some dainty notion 
Take a draught from Nature's bowl and let 
'er toot. 

If there 's "critic cusses" standin' 

While yer shootin' — at the landin' 
Never swerve a little bit if you are fired 

With a bit of Nature's powder; 

Only yell and shout the louder; 
"Go way back," you "critic cusses" make me 
tired. 

Hallelujah for the feller 
Who can up and yell and beller 

Like a lion and not like a little calf. 
It 's the lazy lout that 's dudish 
And the simple fool that 's prudish 

If you 're honest with yourself, you '11 cry and 
laugh. 

And while thus I doggerel you 

With Pegasus I corral you 
I would also lay my tribute at your feet, 

For the heart your verse has brought me 

Is as Mother Nature taught me 
Wild and tender as a boy's and just as sweet. 

25" 



Keep it thus forever. Never 
From your god of Nature sever, 

Use the language that expresses what you feel. 
List; a newsboy, just turned seven, 
Says: "Me mudder 's snook in Heben." 

There 's a classic bit of slang, because it 's real. 
— Captain Jack Crawford. 

Vr* t£r* ijr* 

MAKE GOOD. 

We all have a chance in this life to try 

And make good. 
We only live once and then we must die, 

So make good. 
Find out your own particular line 
For you have yours and I have mine, 
Study up every point, and then shine. 

Make good. 

Do n't faint if the critics begin to grunt, 

But make good. 
That 's only a part of their own little stunt 

To make good. 
You stand up straight, throw out your chest. 
Why, you 're as good as any of the rest. 
Just take your time, you do your best. 

Make good. 
26 



YOU NEVER KNOW WHO YOU 
RIDE WITH. 

I BOARDED a car the other day; 

You never know who you ride with : 
A sweet little girl sat 'cross the way; 

You never know who you ride with. 
Well, I looked over for quite a while, 
She caught my eye and began to smile, 
Then people came in and rilled the aisle; 

You never know who you ride with. 

I stood up and took hold on a strap ; 

You never know who you ride with: 
Placed my bundle in the young lady's lap, 

You never know who you ride with. 
O, we had such a nice little chat; 
We talked of this and we talked of that; 
Her neighbor got off, so down I sat; 

You never know who you ride with. 

Suddenly, I looked to my right, 

You never know who you ride with: 

What I saw there was a terrible sight, 
You never know who you ride with : 

27 



A face contorted in anger's strife, 
Two eyes that cut me like a knife, 
I recognized them as my wife's, 

You never know who you ride with. 



Q&* 9£r* ^r* 

IT'S MY WISH. 

If wishes can make a thing come true, 
And sometimes I really believe they do; 
I wish that at some time, some place 
Upon this world's old wrinkled face 
Each living friend I ever knew, 
(And I confess there 're quite a few,) 
Could drift into some place once more 
Like scattered ships to a haven shore 
And be as happy as once we 've been 
With laughter's rousing, ringing din 
Echoing to the clear blue sky 
As we lift up our voices high 
And give three cheers to memory 
Of good old times that used to be. 



28 



RELICS FROM BABYLAND. 

THERE is a land, I won't say where, 

But grown-up people can't go there; 

For only little babies dwell 

In this fair place of which I tell, 

And only babies understand 

The funny ways of babyland, 

All which to you and me are not 

Of anything more than a lot 

Of those deep mysteries which remain 

For one mone learned to explain. 

Their king, he wears no gilded crown, 
Nor dresses in a gaudy gown, 
And for a throne, naught suits him more 
Than just a seat upon the floor, 
Where, with a rattle or a ring 
Or any simple little thing 
That lies about among his toys 
To rule and make the loudest noise 
Which into meanings surely tell 
That all the kingdom goeth well; 

29 



For no land like this bright one could 
Be more of anything but good 
Where each and every member vents 
The freedom of his innocence. 

And when one of them grows to be 
Beyond the bounds of infancy, 
And lays aside his cap and dress 
And all his simple babyishness, 
He has to leave and go away 
To a far distant land to stay 
An exile there, in time to find 
A different thing to please his mind, 
And there must learn to feel content 
With what is dealt as the event. 

Although in time his heart may yearn 
For just a short while to return 
And hold once more some little hand 
Of his old friends in Babyland; 
Just as you and I to-day 
Stand quietly and look away 
Back o'er the years that all are gone; 
We too in fancy see the dawn 
As it shone out across the sand 
For us in our own Babyland. 



30 



LONGING. 

If I could have all I long for, 

My wish could realize, 
I know I would not ask for more 

Than to look in your eyes. 

If somewhere, some place, we could meet, 
And you, you would just smile, 

My happiness would be complete 
For such a short, sweet while. 

If I could find you where you are, 
Could once more see your face, 

I 'd travel, yes, I 'd travel far 
Nor heed the time or space. 

If I could once more look into 
The depths of your dark eyes, 

Could once more feel the thrill anew 
'T would be my Paradise. 

If bound in irons they 'd fast me where 

I might feast sight on you, 
I would be e'en contented there 

With such a hope in view. 

31 



If just one hour I could live o'er 
Where dearest memories throng, 

I know I would not ask for more, 
I 'd have all that I long. 

^^F' 1£r^ 1&^ 

A BOASTFUL MISS 

She was a vain and boastful miss 
As ever partook of earthly bliss: 
Very pretty, but knew it well, 
And of her charms she liked to tell ; 
Just bragged and boasted all the time, 
She said her lips were real sublime 
And no one's mouth had ever grown 
Quite to the equal of her own. 
She even mentioned this to me, 
Tried to excite my jealousy. 
But I told her then and there 
That any time or anywhere 
When she would be so kind to say, 
I 'd put my lips to her lips any day. 



32 



WHEN MY DREAM COMES TRUE. 

When my dream comes true and I really get 

to be 
An actor on the stage that the people pay to 

see; 
When the curtain will go up and the orchestra 

will play, 
And I '11 make my first entrance in a very 

graceful way, 
And strut about the stage in a gay bedecked 

attire 
For the gentlemen — to look upon and the 

ladies to admire, 
And I say a lot of things in a real sad way 

you know, 
While the fellows all play soft on their instru- 
ments below, 
And I hear a young girl sob 'way out in the 

parquet, 
And over in a box I hear another say: 
"O mamma, is n't he great? he 's an actor 

sure enough." 
(This gives me lots of nerve to carry out my 

bluff,) 

3 33 



And I strike an attitude like an ancient God 

of Greece, 
And there I stand and pose till their applaud- 

ings cease. 
Then I make a quick exit right after they are 

through 
To where my valet awaits, when my dream 

comes true. 

When my dream comes true and I actually 

will play 
The sentimental parts that take the audience 

away, 
And they 're brought back with a tear in 

either eye, 
And they sit there in their seats and in turn 

they laugh and cry, 
There will be a real snowstorm and an air- 
ship and a lake, 
We will have a six course dinner and the food 

will not be fake; 
The thunder will be the loudest brand of 

thunder ever made, 
And the rain storm in the third act will put 

real ones in the shade, 
And I will fight a duel; (of course it will not 

hurt 
The other fellow much as I poke him in the 

shirt,) 

34 



But I '11 make a grand rush for him and at 

him I will spring, 
And the orchestra will boom, boom, and the 

clashing steel will ring, 
And then with a sudden lurch his foil I will 

throw 
Clear across the stage, (as we arranged before 

the show,) 
And with my foot upon his neck I '11 pose as 

gladiators do; 
O, I certainly will be great when my dream 

comes true. 

When my dream comes true and I get a cur- 
tain call, 
And I have to come out and bow right before 

them all, 
And act as awkward like and bored all the 

while, 
And my face slips into a silly grinning 

smile, 
And the curtain goes down, but right up once 

more, 
And I have to come back and do as I 'd done 

before, 
But they keep on applauding till I 'm forced 

to make a speech 
And I thank them one and all and throw a 

kiss to each. 

35 



I tell them how in childhood it had been my 

keen desire 
To some day be an actor that would set the 

world afire ; 
I thank them for their attention and their at- 
tendance to the play, 
And bow and bow and grin and grin and back 

myself away 
While the bouquets keep a falling like snow 

flakes 'round my feet, 
And I '11 grasp them in my arms and beat a 

quick retreat 
And I '11 press them to my lips with their 

trailing ribbons of blue, 
Then I '11 interview the reporters, when my 

dream comes true. 

When my dream comes true, when my dream 

comes true, 
I will send a box pass to every one of you ; 
And I will build a castle, I do not know just 

where, 
But every one of you will be very welcome 

there 
To come and bring your baggage and stay as 

long as you please, 
And live with me in comfort with a silent 

sort of ease. 

36 



Everything that you wish for will be right at 

your hand, 
From a box of chocolate bonbons to a mili- 
tary band, 
And there I '11 build a little stage upon which 

I can play 
To amuse you if it 's raining and while the 

time away, 
And O, we '11 be so happy in this castle built 

of gold 
That we '11 just live on forever, and we never 

will grow old, 
But like a lot of children we will spend the 

pleasant hours 
Roaming through the palace gardens of 

sweetly scented flowers, 
And we '11 linger where the fountains sing, 

where summer skies are blue, 
Where we '11 eat, drink and be merry, when 

my dream comes true. 



37 



THE RAIN BARREL. 

At the cabin's end a barrel stands 
With weathered staves and rusted bands; 
Upon a leaning tilt, an inch or so, 
To course the stream of its overflow; 




As if bowed reconciled with fate, 
And willing to accumulate 
Within its bounds the drops which fall 
By heaven's justice, over all. 

Up to the side there 's a piece of tin 
Held fast and bent, so the rain runs in 

38 



When it leaves the clumsy old eaves-trough 
In its eagerness to plunge right off 
And fall with such a splash and smack 
Like music of a cataract, 
Which chants itself a doleful strain 
Of thankfulness for such a rain. 

Then as a break in the cloud appears, 
The sun looks out from behind her tears ; 
Quivering upon the brim there lies 
An echoed picture of summer skies ; 
And days which come when fields are dry, 
When streams run slow in creeks close by, 
The tongue may find a cooling sup 
From out this rustic loving-cup. 

$2r* t&* €^^ 

HOME. 

IT is just plain home that I Ve known for 
every day 

From my infancy till now; but for it I must 
say 

That no other spot on earth can lure me long 
away 

From this 'just plain home' where I find my- 
self to-day. 

39 



HOW IT FEELS TO BE ALIVE. 

Life 's the queerest thing after all 

For those who share in it, to call 

Much more than that the fickle sense 

Is getting pleased at their expense; 

Just one big jolly of the taste 

With flavored food, that makes you waste 

Your time in eating it, for when 

It 's gone you want some more again ; 

While old dry thirst bluffs you to think 

It's your treat coming to the drink; 

Sleep knocks you down and says, "lie there," 

You know he 's lied, but you do n't dare 

To contradict him, or he '11 take 

You down for keeping him awake, 

And so it usually is best 

To submit to such an arrest: 

Gets a sweet kiss upon the pride 
That makes him feel self-satisfied 
Only for a minute, and then 
Discontent slaps him once again 
And spoils it all by letting care 
Have a crack at his life somewhere, 

40 



And where it hurts and leaves a rent 
For a spell of discouragement, 
To settle in which may turn to 
A melancholy case of blue 
That now is liable to stick 
Until the fellow gets real sick: 

He '11 suffer along in this way 

For some time, when perhaps there may 

Occur to him a pleasant thought 

Which, fanned by hope, will like as not 

Put him upon his feet once more, 

Where a good laugh will soon restore 

His feelings to a normal state, 

And content will scratch his sore fate 

Until Soul's lonely sentinel 

Is heard to say, that all is well: 

Then something in him tempts his bad, 
And 'fore he knows it he has had 
His foot in it by letting go 
To his will-string, which soon will throw 
Things out of gear, and when thus freed 
Will let him fall into the greed 
That makes a man lose all his sense 
And fools him at his own expense. 
The devil takes him, you might say, 
Down home to spend a holiday, 
And (please excuse this slang in rhyme) 
Shows him what is "A hot old time :" 

4i 



Perhaps he '11 wallow in this mire 
For quite a while, until desire 
Is surfeited and singed his wings, 
Then he '11 look different on things : 
Wisdom will clear his eyes until 
Honor takes hold, and conscience will 
Slap him upon the back and say, 
"See here, my boy, you Ve gone astray;" 
Ambition then gets strengthened by 
A good strong drink of distilled try; 
With failure slipping now and then 
Persistence makes him try again, 
Until constancy has at length 
Revived him to his old time strength, 
And in a short while he 's begun 
To feel as good as any one, 
Even will blow and bray and say: 
"Well, things are coming all my way." 
(But now look out if he is struck 
By a far different kind of luck, 
And on some day is roughly hit 
With something, and what causes it 
He does not know, gets all bedazed 
From the effects, loses his ways, 
And bashfully makes a pretense 
To say things which contain no sense. 

You can just bet he 's had a shove 
From Cupid's nimble fist of love 

42 



That 's pushed him right into the pool 
Where every man becomes a fool, 
And gets his mind all out of place 
Dreaming over a pretty face: 
Here comes the time for foolishness 
To trip him up, and make a mess 
Of the whole thing with that old trick 
Of branding him a benedict, 
While this addition of a wife 
Will give more romance to his life, 
For then is when he gets in bad, 
And pays for all the joy he 's had, 
While on the fence there sits old fun 
Laughing at him for what he 's done, 
As he wriggles in that tight noose — 
"Obedience," trying to loose 
Himself and once more get a taste 
Of a single life that 's going to waste : 

Though all in time he gets to be 

Quite pacified by harmony, 

As soundness shows to him his wealth 

Of wholeness in his share of health; 

He takes to pleasure like a child, 

Where peace and freedom have beguiled 

Him while in rapture, to confess 

The fullness of his completeness; 

He has a lot of dignity 

In pride for his large family, 

43 



Whose success has now gratified 
His faith to feel well satisfied; 
Grows old in this bright cheerfulness 
Of being humored to excess, 
And one day gets to thinking it 
All over, and is strangely hit 
By the absurdness of it all, 
That heretofore he 's had to call 
The part he played in this life, for 
It really has been nothing more 
Than sensation trying to serve 
A "skin-game" on his easy nerve ; 

The thing gets funnier as he 

Thinks what an easy mark to be 

Conned by all of these qualities ; 

Comes to the conclusion that he 's 

Been doped for fair by gambler Fate ; 

Was sadly hazed at any rate ; 

He gets to laughing at the sin 

Of what a great big chump he 's been, 

That his whole mental faculty 

Did not even have wits to see 

How the sense would first soothe, then thresh 

The feeling masked behind the flesh, 

And all the largeness of the joke 

Gives his funny bone a good poke, 

Until he really can not quit 

His laughing at the fun of it, 

44 



Giggle or snicker, grin or smile, 
Keeps nudging his face all the while, 
Laugh out real loud, and then stop short; 
Give a low chuckle, next a snort, 
And then goes at it with a note 
That sounds like it would split his throat; 
Just roars and holds his sides and falls 
Upon the floor, where now he lolls 
High in the mirth that takes his breath, 
And simply tickles him to death. 

1£r* 1£r* t&t 

TAKEN BACK. 

"A PENNY for your thoughts," said he, 

When she became so quiet. 
But she replied, "Not worth the price 

You offer me to buy it." 
"Then tell it to me anyhow," 

Said he, "I beg you to." 
"Well, if you will have me confess, 

My thoughts were all of you." 



45 



CHECKERS. 

In a big department store 
Where they sell all things galore, 

Was a checkroom just for little babies small, 
So when mothers came to shop, 
At this checkroom they would stop, 

And leave their young ones in a padded stall. 

One bright day a Mrs. Brown 

Brought her baby into town, 
And wishing much to match a special lace 

Checked her babe on coupon three, 

Then went off at once to see 
Where the bargain counter was about the 
place. 

Well, no sooner had Mrs. Brown 

Set her precious darling down, 
Than a lady by the name of Mrs. Green 

'Cross the checking counter slid 

Her fat squalling little kid, 
And took a check which number was fourteen. 

4 6 



The new check girl, all complexed, 
Had so muddled up the checks 

That on baby Brown she tied the tag fourteen, 
And in her hurried, flurried haste 
She unconsciously had placed 

The number three on little baby Green. 

When they went to close the store 

There were two kids uncalled for. 
It was getting dark and very, very late, 

When a voice said, "Give to me 

That baby number three," 
While another, "Give me fourteen, I can't 
wait." 

Neither mother had a doubt, 

As she hurriedly went out, 
But what she held her own sweet precious joy. 

Until reaching home that night 

Each beheld a startling sight, 
For what was once a girl was now a boy. 

Now each started out to find 
That check girl, and you mind 

They did not stop until they'd reached her 
place, 
And though neither of them knew 
That the other had come too, 

They met there with the babies, face to face. 

47 



The check girl lived in a flat, 
(Though blame her not for that), 

It was quite hard to wake her from a snore. 
But at last her blinking eyes 
Were wide opened by surprise, 

When she saw two ladies standing at the door. 

Now first one would have her say, 
Then the other would blaze away, 
Until you 'd thought they both had lost their 
minds. 
But when shy of breath and talk 
They did not slow down or balk, 
But with their hands and heads made know- 
ing signs. 

The poor check girl took it all 
As they sassed her in the hall, 

Nor even shed a tear or cracked a smile 
When suddenly the ladies made 
With the babes an even trade, 

And started off in rather informal style. 

The poor girl was of Irish birth, 
And she could n't restrain her mirth, 

So she shouted to them loudly from behind, 
"Sure, I turned yer kids aroun', 
And I made a Green one Brown, 

Because ye see I am so color-blind." 

48 



"OUT T' UNCLE BEN'S." 

Introductory to the following piece of child dialect, I shall 
try to assist the reader's imagination by stating that the two small 
boys mentioned therein have taken it upon themselves to enter- 
tain their big sister's gentleman friend, whom they have found, 
by accident, in the " bestest " chair in the parlor, with a descrip- 
tion of their annual visit to their farmer Uncle's. The eldest is 
supposed to be doing the talking, assisted by an occasional nod of 
assent from the younger, while in the meantime sister is very busily 
engaged, a few feet above, in testing the warmth of sterling silver 
curling-tongs and losing invisible hairpins in the intricate depths 
of large, black masses of "natural curls." 

"Out t' Uncle Ben's." 

Me an' brother Willie 's goin' out t' Uncle 
Ben's t' stay; 

Ain't we, Willie? Mother said so, didn't 
she, Willie, the other day? 

Just as soon as our vacation comes around, 
she said we could 

Go an' stay all this next summer, if we prom- 
ised we 'd be good 

An' not be bother to Aunt Mary, ner make 
her extra work to do, 

But we ain't goin' to, are we, Willie? We '11 
help her when she wants us to. 
4 49 



Our Uncle Ben? Why, he 's a farmer, lives 

'way out in the country where 
You can holler as loud as you want, an' do 

as you please out there; 
Ain't no bad boys to throw stones, ner call yo' 

names, ner throw yo' down. 
Why, some of them boys what live out there 

never been inside of town; 
Ner ain't got no nice clothes, ner nothin' nice 

as me an' Willie's got; 
An' some do n't even wear suspenders in sum- 
mer, when it 's awful hot, 
Ner no coats, ner shoes 'r stockin's, jest their 

pants an' shirt, 'an when 
They go swimmin' down in the river, they 

do n't jest wear nothin' then. 
Gee, them boys know how to fish, though, an' 

make 'em bite jest right at first, 
An' me an' Willie 's goin' with 'em some time, 

maybe, if we durst. 

Say, did y' ever hunt fer eggs 'way up high 

in a big barn lof , 
An' climb way up on a great big ladders, to 

the roof an' then jump off 
Inter the hay an' roll around an' dig down 

through to where it ends? 
We do it lots, do n't we, Willie? when we 're 

out t' Uncle Ben's. 

50 



Sister, she don't like the country; says she 

thinks it awful dry; 
Jes' because there aint no beaux out there to 

love her 's the reason why, 
Ner take her places an' buy her nice things 

like the other fellows who 
Come to see her an' give us pennies an' candy 

sometimes do. 
One time sister had a feller what give me an' 

Willie a dime, 
An' we bought lots of good things with it 

for ourselves, one time; 
Think his name was Mr. Merland, anyhow 

he 's all right; 
Aint he, Willie? Willie knows him, wish he 

was a-comin' to-night. 

Say, I wish it was vacation, do n't you, Wil- 
lie? Spec' we'd then 

Start real early in the mornin' out to stay 
with Uncle Ben, 

An' not come home 'til 'way next winter, not 
until our school 's begun. 

Um, I bet if you was with us, you would say 
we had more fun 

Goin' 'round with Billy Smithson, he 's the 
hired man, an' he tends 

To all the horses an' cows an' pigs an' every- 
thing at Uncle Ben's. 

5i 



An' he takes us in the wagon nearly every 

place he goes, 
An' lets us drive sometimes too, do n't he, 

Willie ? Willie knows ; 
An' once he took us to the river an' let the 

old horse wade into 
The very middle of the river till the river 

leaked right through 
An' nearly got us wet, an' Willie he got scared 

an' had to bawl 
Jes' like a great big baby, didn't yo'? Gee, 

I was n't scared at all. 

Our Aunt Mary makes the nicest cookies fer 
us when she bakes, 

With great big raisins on the top, an' pies 
an' little ginger-cakes, 

An' then she lets us go pick berries 'long the 
orchard fence, an' there 

Are rattledsnakes an' big wild animals crawl- 
in' 'round most everywhere 

In the weeds an' great big buzzards what eat 
up chickens, an' eagles too, 

Flyin' 'round where we pick berries, Um, I 
bet that that 'd scare you. 

Gee, you ought to see the chickens what our 
Uncle Ben has got, 

52 



And horses, cows and rooster chickens, Um, 

he owns an awful lot; 
Willie, he 's afraid of turkeys, I aint though, 

'ceptin' one 
What all swelled up when I poked him with 

a stick, whew, I run ! 
Fer I was scared and I cried, too, and Uncle 

Ben jest laughed and said 
"Spec' that gobler made me skee-daddle, 

'cause he knew I 'm city-bred." 

I wish mother 'd let us take real guns with 

us when we go. 
Willie, he 's too little to shoot one, but I could 

shoot it fer him, though, 
An' we could kill some birds and eagles, an' 

catch rabbits with 'em too. 
Let's go ask her; you ask, Willie; maybe 

she '11 let us if yo' do. 
Gee, I hear our sister comin', so I guess we 'd 

better clear 
Or she won't give us none of that candy you 

got fer her if she catches us here. 



53 



AN OLD APPLE-TREE. 

The old apple-tree beneath whose broad 

shade 
Since infancy's hours I Ve rested and played. 
In the cool of the morning or noon's torrid 

heat 
I have found it fa offer a pleasant retreat. 




With its wide-spreading branches of summer 

hung green, 
So close interwoven that scarcely between 
The warm sun from above could find its way 

through 
To scatter the moisture of grass-hidden dew. 
At the will of the breeze, in my hammock 

hung low, 

54 



'Neath fruit-bedecked boughs I drift to and 

fro, 
While fancy builds castles in future's domain, 
And memory sips slowly of the sweet cup 

again, 
Unconscious of time or of passing event, 
My soul lulls itself into peaceful content, 
And I ask of no more in God's great un- 
known, 
Than the peace I enjoy with my friends or 

alone 
In these cool clustered shadows that scatter 

the earth 
Under the old tree near the home of my 

birth. 
For no hours of life are dearer to me, 
Than these dream-mellowed whiles 'neath the 

old apple-tree. 

IfiP IfiP ImP 



MOTHER. 

No SWEETER words in English tongue, 

Nor sounds of any other, 
Can echo from the soul's best thoughts, 

Than simply these, "My Mother." 



55 



THERE'S SO MUCH TO BE THANK- 
FUL FOR. 

There 's so much to be thankful for, 

Complain and grumble as we may; 
We never stop to realize 

The wealth that is our own to-day. 
Think of the blind who '11 never see 

The beautiful in everything; 
Think of the deaf who '11 never hear 

The sweetest songs the wild birds sing; 
Think of all those whose souls are bound 

To bodies frail and weak and sore; 
Think of all this suffering — 

There 's so much to be thankful for. 

Life's greatest gift is often lost 

Through constant greed for fortune's 
goal; 
Content is trampled at its cost; 

Sweet peace is shattered in the soul. 
Though lofty heights are never reached; 

Though golden dreams fade by the score ; 
Though despair darkens all our hopes, 

There 's so much to be thankful for. 

56 



So may the silent hour come 

When we will stop and think it o'er, 
Compare ourselves to those worse ofT 

In what we should be thankful for; 
Our God is just, His way 's the best; 

He gives no less, He gives no more ; 
We do the least when we confess 

There 's so much to be thankful for. 

<£ j& j> 




A ROSE whose bloom 

With sweet perfume, 
I longed some day to pluck; 

A worm that bit 

And withered it; 
A tear for such poor luck. 

The rose, a girl 

Pure as a pearl; 
The longing, Love's kind art: 

The worm, a man; 

Son of Satan; 
The tear, a broken heart. 

57 



BILL HARDY'S BARN. 

We discover our speaker seated upon the high end of an 
empty soap-box one hot summer's afternoon, leaning leisurely back 
against the railing which protects the veranda of a country cross- 
roads grocery store. 

He has been whittling a stick of wobd and keeping the dust of 
the road down with the essence of a plug of " Mountain Dew " as 
he patiently awaits his turn to do a little " tradin' " with the 
proprietor. 

As we engaged him in conversation he grows deeply inter- 
ested in telling us of a genius in the neighborhood known to all as 
Bill Hardy, and as we draw him out by patiently listening we re- 
ceive the following description of Bill Hardy and Bill Hardy's Barn: 



Bill Hardy's Barn. 

So y' do n't know Bill Hardy, eh? 
Well, my friend, I want to say 
A loafin' 'round Bill Hardy's barn 
With all the fellers, I '11 be darn, 
I Ve had more fun, now I jest bet, 
Than you can ever 'spect to get; 
For old Bill Hardy, why he is one 
Of the kind that goes in for fun, 
An' he jest lets the fellers do 
Most anything that they want to; 

58 



He 's the best hearted chap I ever knew ; 
Honest as can be, though jest as true 
To keep his word when he is right; 
As the chickens are sure to come home 

at night: 
But if you ever need a friend, 
Bill '11 stand by you to the end: 
Never grumbles 'bout what he got 
When he drew his humble lot 
Here on this airth, but is content 
With jest its simplest enjoyment, 
Always whistlin' or tryin' to sing 
When he's at work on anything; 
Never discouraged, ner never blue, 
But jest can see the sun shine through 
The darkest cloud, that ever copes 
To weaken down a feller's hopes: 

Bill lost his right arm long before 

He was thirty years old, in the war, 

And never has been able to 

Work at jest what he 'd like to do. 

He draws a little pension that 

Is 'nough to keep him middlin' fat 

An' this together with his trade 

Of mendin' things, I 'spect he 's made 

'Nough to allow both ends to touch 

An' maybe lap over pretty much. 

59 



I recollect when he first showed 
Himself 'round these here parts; I 'lowed 
I did not think that he could be 
Of much use to the community, 
As there is little on a farm 
That you can work at with one arm ; 
But when I saw him one hot day- 
Over at Dixon's a-pitchin' hay, 
An' workin' hard as any man 
In the whole field with his one han', 
I says to myself, well sure enough 
That Hardy 's made of real good stuff. 

Then he hired the barn, and settled down 
To mendin' things that folks brought 

'round, 
Which varied from a broken chair 
To a thrashing machine, an' I declare 
He had more work than he could do 
After he had started a week or two, 
He seemed to git the fellers' heart, 
Fur they took to him from the start. 
Socialest bein' I ever saw, 
Never tires of workin' his jaw 
With a good story, or some new jokes 
Jest to amuse us country folks. 

From the toll gate to the blacksmith 

shop 
I do n't know where I 'd rather stop, 

60 



To get the news or spin a yarn 

Than right down in Bill Hardy's barn, 

I had to laugh the other day. 
I happened to be down that a-way, 
An', havin' nothin' else to do, 
I called on Bill a minute or two. 
Well, he was busy, as he usually is, 
A tinkerin' 'round them things of his, 
But 'peared so glad to see me come, 
That I jest made myself to hum; 
We got to talkin' 'bout the ways 
That people travel now-a-days: 
'Bout the bustle, the rip and tear 
That folks make to get anywhere, 
An' Bill jest squared himself an' said, 
Smoothin' his hand across his head : 
"Well ridin' on these 'lectric cars 
Through the country now'days far's 
My own honest opinion goes 
I can't see no pleasure 'bout those 
Blamed old contrivances that sail 
So swift along a slip'ry rail 
That you can't get a chance to see 
Jest where you 're goin' or where yo' be; 
You get on to the old fool thing, 
A chap grabs for an' pulls a string, 
An' then comes 'round and takes your 
fare, 

61 



An' 'fore you know it, why you 're 

there ; 
Not time to say Jack-rob-i-sin 
'Fore you've got to git off ag'in. 
Fur me, when I go anywhere 
I '11 take the wagon and the mare." 

I never will fergit that night 

Down at Bill's barn, when me and White, 

An' Drury Stout, an' two 'r three more 

Of fellers from up 't the grocery store, 

Was sittin' 'round an' whittlin' sticks 

An' talkin' general politics, 

An' Bill looked up an' sniffed the air; 

As if a skunk was hid somewhere ; 

An' then says, "Boys, I smell some 

smoke." 
Of course we thought it jest a joke, 
'Cause Bill 's always tryin' something 
To fool the fellers, but when by jing 
I took a whiff, I smelt it too, 
An' lookin' up, I saw come through 
The floor of the loft where Bill had kept 
His duds and where he always slept, 
A little cloud, puff after puff 
Of thin blue smoke fur sure enough ; 

Well, you should jest have seen us quit 
A laughin' an' git up and git ; 

62 



I grabbed a-hold a water pail 

A hangin' near me on a nail, 

An', dog me, 'fore I reached the door 

The blaze was comin' through the floor. 

I never did in my born days 

See sich a lot a timber blaze 

As that barn did, ner feel so bad 

'Cause Bill was losin' all he had. 

I crossed the road in one big jump 

To git some water from the pump, 

But when I went to take a stroke 

The blamed old handle of that pump 

broke; 
An' all I said I will not tell. 
We had to use old Peter's well, 
An' when we 'd take a bucket full, 
"Old Daddy Peters" 'd take a pull 
At his whiskers, and say, "Go slow 
On the water, boy, fer the well 's gittin' 

low." 
But we kept on, an' my, O my, 
I thought we 'd surely dip her dry, 
'Cause now a number had run down 
Who saw the blaze from up in town, 
Fur it made everything so bright 
That you could see all 'round that night, 
And sich a time we had to save 
The old barn an' tryin' to be brave 

63 



Throwin' the water in the air 
And gittin' it most everywhere 
But the right place, and runnin' about 
Trying to put the fool thing out, 
And gittin' in each other's way. 
I laugh about it to this day 
When I think of Bud a-dousin' Lee 
With a full pail. He could n't see 
Where he was goin', and got so flared 
'Bout what he was doin', he jest squared 
Himself to get a real good swing, 
And let Lee Jones have the hull blamed 

thing. 
Gosh, but Lee was so mad that night 
I was afraid there 'd be a fight. 
They got to callin' each other liar, 
And almost fergot about the fire: 
I tell you things got hot for sure 
And all the air was a little bluer, 
Fur what they said won't bear re- 

peatin' 
At any kind of an old camp-meetin'. 
But Jones had cause the goodness knows, 
Fur he was dressed in real good clothes 
A goin' a sparkin', I have no doubt, 
On "Widder Brown," when the fire broke 

out. 

6 4 



When we got things under full control, 
I looked fur Bill, and, bless my soul, 
There he jest stood as unconcerned, 
A watchin' the old blamed barn burn, 
I walked over and says, "Well, Bill, 
I tell you it 's a nasty pill 
To see your stuff go up in smoke." 
'T was quite a while before he spoke, 
Then turnin' slowly 'round to me 
He says, "Sech things has got to be, 
I 've lost my truck or nearly all 
The little store of things I call 
My own, but I aint grievin' it, 
Fur there is always more to git. 
But I feel so bad now when I jest 
Think of that little swaller's nest 
A right up there beneath the eave, 
Fur they 're got young ones, I believe. 
An' jest think of them little things 
Not old enough to use their wings 
All nestled there a-waitin' to burn 
With the rest of the old concern. 
Look at the mother bird flyin' there. 
If that aint what yer call despair, 
I like to know what is, the way 
She was singin' the other day 
Around that nest jest tellin' me how 
Happy she was, but look at her now." 

5 65 



Well, I never know jest what to say 
When Bill gets talkin' that a-way, 
So I jest took a good big chew, 
An' hunted up somethin' else to do. 
After a while when the fire was out, 
I seen him kind o' crawlin' 'bout 
Upon the roof, and I declare 
I could n't make out what he was doin' 

there, 
Until I seen him lean far down 
Near the burnt eave and feel aroun', 
Then I begin to understand, 
He lifted a nest up in his hand, 
And carefully a-climbin' down 
With it again back to the ground, 
He walked across to where I stood. 
And in the dark I thought I could 
See him brush off, as he drew near, 
Somethin' that might have been a tear. 
As he jest slowly shook his head, 
Sayin', "Well, Tom, the birds are dead." 



66 



A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS. 

WELL, what is the matter with Gertie, I 
wonder? 
She sits there so quiet with nothing to say: 
While we have been eating a nice little 
luncheon 
Her thoughts seem to have wandered far 
away. 

Thinking? yes; perhaps of the other young 
fellow, 
Or planning some pleasure to be, when I 'm 
gone: 
O, I would give much if I only was able 
To see what her thoughts are thus dwell- 
ing upon. 

Of what are you thinking? I dare now to 
question ; 
Startled she looks up, then replies without 
wait: 
"Why, I was just thinking of what you were 
thinking, 
By spilling so much of the food off your 
plate." 

6 7 



MEMORIES AND I. 

We two are sitting all alone, 

Memories and I ; 
While winds without breathe low a 
moan 

Through pine-trees close by. 
And as the hours pass away, 
I hear all that he has to say 
About a happy holiday 

Which has long gone by. 

So pleasing is the theme to-night, 

Unconscious I feel 
My unseen spirit leave in flight 

On a swift winged heel; 
And through the shadows and the sun 
Of all his tale I faster run, 
Until, abruptly, he is done; 

And then back I steal. 

I turn to find my guest is gone, 

Memories has fled; 
The cock is crowing for the dawn 

And I seek my bed. 
68 



In dreams again I plainly see 
The things of which he spoke to me : 
But wake to find reality, — 
The cold world instead. 



i&* iF^ i&^ 



VIOLETS. 

THE violets have withered and faded 
away, 

As violets are sure to do. 
There is nothing remains but a withered 
pile 

Of what was a fragrant blue. 
The flowers are gone, their mission was 
short. 

They grew and bloomed and died, 
As if to give to this earth one smile, 

And then to be laid aside. 
But in that smile I saw a face, 

Which never will fade away, 
'Twas hers, who sent the violets 

Upon my last birthday. 



6 9 



THE FIDDLER'S OLD VIOLIN. 

Bevistown, Colerain Township, Hamilton County, Ohio, was 
the rendezvous in days gone by for all the fun-loving people of the 
surrounding country. 

Back as far as the fifties, when big snows and long spells of 
good sleighing prevailed, many even drove out from the city to en- 
joy a night of dancing to the music of old Matt Brown, Will 
Huston, and Billy Roll at one of the three roadside taverns. The 
following poem gives an accurate description of the opening of the 
Bevis House, which is shown in the illustration, and which still 
stands, a sentinel to time, on the old Colerain Pike, some eight 
miles north of the city limits. Those whose names are mentioned 
in the following verses were actual participants in the pleasures at 
this dedication, which took place on New Year's eve, 1855. There 
are still a few " old settlers " now living in the vicinity of Bevis- 
town who can recall most vividly the above occasion, having been 
there themselves or heard the story often told by some one who was. 

One of the old violins which contributed to the festivities on 
the above occasion, and to which this poem is dedicated, i9 now a 
keepsake in the possession of the author. 

The Fiddler's Old Violin. 

That violin that's laid away 
Back on the shelf, I dare would say 
If it could talk it would not fail 
To tell to you a cheerful tale 
Of a sweet past when it had sung 
For measured steps of old and young: 

70 



The "fiddler," he who wove the rhyme 
Upon its strings, has served his time 
On earth, and now enjoys the rest 
Of those who gave to life their best; 
So that old fiddle 's left behind, 
Somewhat a token to remind 
Us of the joy there used to be 
In plain rural festivity: 

The ballroom with its formal ways 
Was quite unknown in those old days 
When a barn served them just as well 
To give their dance in, with the smell 




Of new crop hay that would just seem 
To weigh itself on every beam ; 
The lantern swinging on the hook, 
The candles placed in every nook, 
Pumpkins lying as if asleep 
In the corner, and a large heap 
Of bright red apples smiling in 
From where they filled a bursting bin; 
The rough board floor that echoed back 
Each well placed heel with such a crack 
That with the rest now only went 
To lend more to the merriment; 

7* 



Such laughter of the boys and girls 
As 'round they danced in dizzy whirls 
Such shouts of overglowing glee 
All mingled in the revelry, 
With good cheer ringing loud a note 
Of happiness from every throat, 
While far above the noisy din 
Rang out the fiddler's old violin: 

That violin ; why it could tell 
You of the night the big snow fell 
And people came for miles aroun' 
To have a dance at Bevistown, 
In a tavern that was waiting 
The usual form of a dedicating. 
They came in ev'ry different way 
From horseback to a three-seat sleigh, 
And laughed and danced the whole night 

through 
Until the barnyard roosters crew 
For day, before the last tired load 
Had turned their horse out in the 

road. 
It was upon a New- Year's eve, 
And clear and cold you may believe, 
For the ringing of the sleigh-bells 
Sounded far up as Franklin Wells', 
Jingling to the quick rhythmic beat 
Of the horses fast moving feet; 

72 



It did not take them long to fill 
The wagon shed, they came until 
The fence was gone, and by and by 
There scarcely was a place to tie. 




While in around the big fireplace 
Crowded ev'ry cold smiling face, 
Made now to take a reddened hue 
In the bright light the back-log threw 

73 



All the fine young bloods were there 
With their best girls, who looked quite 

fair 
As they stood shy as some young fawn 
With their best "bib and tucker" on. 
Aaron Stout brought two Venice girls 
All radiant in lace and curls, 
But, 'fore the evenin' was half though 
Will Martin had one of the two. 
While tricky little Maj. Huston 
Had nearly fetched the other one; 
That Abrams girl came with Dode 

Stout, 
Though Kitty Symmes was jist about 
The prettiest there, lest it might be 
That girl that came with Frank McGee ; 
Alex Doms let all know he was there, 
But putting on a fine city air, 
While Sarah Smith left ev'ry room 
Scented up with sweet perfume; 
Al Van Zandt came there all alone, 
But he had a girl to take home, 
Though Riley Seward drove away 
Without a partner in his sleigh; 

The fiddlers each had soon begun 
To get their old green bag undone, 
While the floor commenced to fill 
With many sets for the first quadrille, 

74 



And when Bill Roll and old Matt Brown 
Began to play, they beat it down 
Till you could hardly hear them call 
"Swing your partners" and "balance all," 
"All hands around," "grand right and 

left," 
And the floor waved with the great heft ; 
Just the singing of those few strings 
Had seemed to put new life in things, 
And goodness how those fiddlers played 
The "Wild Horse" and "The Little 

Maid," 
"Old Gray Eagle," and "Forked Deer," 
"Seven Mile," and you could n't hear 
Your ownself think after Bill Huston 
Got his big elbow joint undone 
On "Money Musk" and "Devil's Dream" 
The whole house shook from beam to 

beam. 

Thus the revelry grew and grew, 
Thus the hours so swiftly flew, 
While each heart now feasting there 
Unmindful of to-morrow's care, 
Owed all the pleasure it drank in 
All to a fiddler's old violin. 
A violin that 's laid away 
Back on the shelf, and I dare say 

75 



If it could talk it would not fail 

To tell to you a cheerful tale 

Of a dear past that is to be 

Sweetest to us in memory, 

Just for the pleasure that once has been 

Due to the fiddler's old violin. 



t&r* t&* tlr* 



ONE YEAR AGO. 

Just one short year ago to-day the sun 
seemed to shine out more bright, 

Just one short year ago to-day the stars in- 
creased their twinkling light; 

Each flower growing near my path waved 
sweeter fragrance from its bloom, 

Each bird that sang from leafy boughs made 
softer music of its tune; 

The earth, the sky, all that life holds trans- 
formed as in a magic way; 

If I remember I met you just one short year 
ago to-day. 



7 6 



"JONES." 

TALK about a fellow preachin' 

In a way that sort o' goes 
Through your system an' a-reachin' 

From your head down to your toes; 
Blame me if I Ve heard another 

That could rattle up your bones, 
And jest make you feel you 'd ruther 

Be some good, than that Sam Jones. 

Common kind o' talk he uses, 

Swears a little now and then, 
But a point he never loses 

Showin' up some so-called men; 
Do n't know where he got his schooling 

Do n't know how much earth he owns, 
But I do know 't aint no foolin' 

With back talk 'round this Sam Jones. 

Aint a fellow to be formal, 

Laughs and jokes at our expense ; 
But I 'low he 's just 'bout normal 

When it comes to common sense ; 
Always kicking at the devil 

Till you fairly hear his groans, 
An' for havin' a head that 's level 

On religion, it is Sam Jones. 
77 



WHEN THE DAWN IS IN THE SKY. 

When the dawn is in the sky and the heart 

awakes to find 
That all its sweet caressings were but fancies 

of the mind 
Which soon are lost to memory, as the light 

comes through the pane 




And the music of the morning calls us back 

to earth again; 
Which is now a dreamland flooded in the 

golden of the sun, 
With a birth of bursting blossoms to a new 

life just begun ; 
Where the birds are all a singing with a 

happy unrestrain 
As the dew drips from the grasses, like a 

gentle summer rain. 

78 



And when everything in common holds a 

greeting for the eye 
Upon its first awakening, when the dawn is 

in the sky. 

When the dawn is in the sky, and the little 

stars of night 
Grow dim and lose their twinkle in the early 

morning light 
Which peeps above the mountain and down 

along the stream, 
Where the whirling of the waters like echoes 

from a dream 
Are lost within the silence of a robin's plaint- 
ive song, 
Given from the soul of nature when the pulse 

of life beats strong; 
While the smoke above the cabin like a misty 

hallowed wreath ; 
Or like sweet comfort's blessings from a 

happy home beneath, 
Where day has kissed the darkness, causing 

fairy forms to fly 
Back to fairies' "Dreamland" when the dawn 

is in the sky. 

When the dawn is in the sky, when the dawn 

is in the sky, 
How the fancy loves to ramble through the 

happy days gone by, 

79 



When we drove the cows to pasture in the 

early of the day, 
And stopped to beat the thistles which grew 

along the way. 
Or waded in the silent, shallow waters of the 

brook, 
Or imitated heroes in some childish story- 
book; 
I wonder if in Heaven we can live this all 

again, 
With that wayward, youthful feeling un- 

marred by worldly stain, 
Can we find our boyhood's morning free from 

either sob or sigh, 
And with all its golden sweetness: with the 

dawn across its sky? 

<^* t£r* l2r* 



MY ROOM. 

Kings may claim their costly castles, 
Millionaires their mansions fine, 

But for myself I find a palace 

In this one room which I call mine. 



80 



PITY THEM. 

Pity them who can't say No 
When temptation lures too strong; 

Pity them who feebly go 

In the way they know is wrong; 

Pity and a kind word speak, 

Try their better self to seek 

Help them, for their will is weak: 
Pity them. 

Pity her who 's gone astray 
Mid the city's gauze and glare; 

Pity, for it was not the way 

She had dreamed that put her there; 

With painted cheeks and hollow eyes, 

She 's down to where she can not rise ; 

Death now is her best compromise: 
Pity her. 

Pity him a slave to drink, 
A greater curse he could not own; 

Pity the soul that will so sink 
To where it never can atone; 

6 81 



He once looked out of innocent eyes 
Upon a world of brilliant skies; 
But there in the gutter now he lies: 
Pity him. 

Pity the weak who e'er they be ; 
They tried perhaps, but failed the 
task; 
Pity them, for there 's good to see 
In every one beneath the mask: 
Their cradle-song was not in vain, 
Although they could not stand the strain, 
Their hearts may still echo its sweet re- 
frain : 

Pity them. 

* J> j* 



A JOKE. 

A JOKE'S a joke because the wit 
Is quick to see the point of it. 
But should the point appear too dim 
To any one, the joke 's on him. 



82 



A ROSE AND A SEA SHELL. 

A RO^t and a sea shell sent to me 

By a friend of mine who happened to be 

In the Southern summer-land, 

And perhaps, with her own hand 

She has plucked this rose for me 

From a garden near the sea, 

Where, at evening, as the rush 

Of the waves has stilled the blush 

On its cheeks, and where the dew 

Of the night has kissed it too ; 

And the morning sun has chased 

Away the drops and has replaced 

In their stead a light, which holds 

To each leaf as it unfolds 

Such a glory as is known 

To the bursting rose alone. 

While the shell with many more 
Has been gathered 'long the shore, 
Where a wave in trying to leap 
Across the sand, has from the deep 
Brought it up and laid it where 
My young friend had found it there. 

83 



So, into this my letter-file 
Awaiting some sweet afterwhile 
When I have more time to lend 
To the sweet thoughts of a friend, 
I place the rose and shell so frail 
Which were sent me through the mail 
By a friend, who chanced to be 
In a summer-land beside the sea. 



84 



I KNEW HE WOULD COME IF 
I WAITED. 

I KNEW he would come if I waited, 

Though waiting, it caused me despair; 
And I sat by the window and listened 

To hear his first step on the stair: 
For I knew he would come if I waited, 

But anxiously I paced 'round the floor. 
O, to see his own form on the threshold 

As I hastened to open the door. 
Would he come? But how dare I question 

His faithfulness to his own word; 
Would he dare not come at my calling? 

Or was that his dear step that I heard? 
O, I rush to the door for to meet him, 

For to welcome him here after all, 
For I knew he would come if I waited, 

He would come to answer my call. 
Yes, yes, it is he on the pavement, 

He 's coming, he 's ringing the bell, 
And my heart beats wild with rapture 

Of a joy which I never can tell, 
For I knew he would come if I waited, 

Yes, he M come at my call ; joy, O joy, 
What happiness it is to welcome 

Just to welcome: "the messenger boy." 

8 5 



PICTURES WE PAINT IN OUR 
MIND. 

There are times in our lives when we each 
stop to think 
Of just what the next world 's going to be ; 
We wonder and ponder if this life 's but a 
link 
In the great chain of eternity. 

We are born, live a while here on earth, 
then we die ; 
Well is that where the story all ends? 
Or is there such a place where we '11 meet 
face to face 
With those whom we have once called our 
friends? 

Will you be just the same? Will you have 
the same name? 
Will you look as you look when you die? 
Or will everything change to everything 
strange 
In the mere twinkling of an eye? 

86 



Where did we come from? Where are we 

going to? 
What is this called a soul hid inside? 
It 's a problem that no one 's been able to do, 
Though many philosophers have tried. 

I can look out on you, you can look out 
on me, 
Here 's a body with hands, feet, and 
head, 
But the spark of this life neither of us can 
see, 
Will we hold claim to it when we 're 
dead? 

When this flesh rots away and turns back 
into clay 
Does the soul soar to summits on high, 
And from there can look down on the little 
green mound 
In the church yard where our bodies lie? 

Does a bud that has drooped ere it burst into 
bloom, 
There continue its fragrance to keep? 
Will that dear sweet face smile in the great 
afterwhile, 
As it did when she fell fast asleep? 

87 



Will love linger to kiss in the life after this 
The near and the dear to our heart? 

Will memory's vine cling to every past thing 
That has once caused our pulse beat to 
start? 

O, mystery unsolved, we bow weak at thy 
will, 

Take us, make us into what you care, 
But give for the tear and all suffering here 

An equal in the smiles of UP THERE. 

We sit down and picture a heaven so fair; 

We make it as fancy best deems, 
And we build and we gild as our wishes have 
willed 

In the beautiful valley of dreams. 

There '11 be towers and walls and large 
marble halls 
Where the echoes of laughter will ring: 
There '11 be gardens in bloom breathing fra- 
grant perfume 
Where the sweet-throated warblers will 
sing. 

In the castle's cool shade where the tables are 
laid 
We will eat of the season's best yield : 

88 



While far down there below the lost river 
will flow 
Through the woodland and meadow and 
field. 

There the sky will be blue save the white 
clouds that strew 
Their broad billowy foam, to defy 
The sun's golden gleam, which will cause 
them to seem 
Like the sails of the ships floating by. 

There the earth w r ill be green with bright 
flowers, between 
Which will wave at their will in the 
breeze, 
There the murmuring brooks in Nature's 
cool nooks 
Will sing as they flow 'neath the trees. 

Nothing there is denied, every wish gratified, 
You 're to choose what the harpist should 
play. 
Thus each sense will be lulled 'till it 's drowsy 
and dulled, 
Then it sleeps joy's exhaustion away. 

There will be no more need of a sect, of a 
creed, 
In this place which we all hope to reach, 

8 9 



For at last we '11 be freed from all envy and 
greed, 

Content will come equal to each. 

Thus forever we '11 live in this land far away 
Like children unconscious of age, 

But whiling there away an endless holiday, 
As in pleasure's sweet pastime we engage. 

May it come to be true, yes for me, yes for 
you; 

When we leave this old planet behind; 
Be it then that we '11 see the sweet reality 

Of the pictures wx paint in our mind. 

Theme. 

Pictures, pictures we paint in our mind, 
Pictures of future, of things left behind; 
As down life's long lane to the end we will 

wind 
We will paint pictures, pictures in our mind. 



90 



MID THE DAISIES. 

SHE stood in a meadow of daisies 

Gathering a large bouquet 
Alone, all alone with the flowers 

That crowded about her way. 

The morning was fresh with the fragrance 
Of an incense the dew had distilled, 

As the sun dried the tears from the flowers 
Which the stars in their weeping had filled. 

No clouds were at play with the sunbeams, 
But the clearness that mellowed the sky 

Was as pure and serene as the sparkle 
To be found in the innocent eye. 

And O, how the birds were all singing, 
And the songs that they sang were the best, 

They could give as a hearty good welcome 
To the maiden, — their young honored guest. 

For she was to them like a fairy; 

As the daisies she stood there among 
With that blush which is joy to its owner, 

When the heart of its owner is young. 

91 



GEE, BUT IT'S GREAT TO BE 
CRAZY. 

I JUST have swallowed a quart of red ink 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

It 's so good for the blood, do n't you think 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 




Before I used nothing but liquid glue, 
But got so stuck up in a week or two 
I hardly knew what I was going to do: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I 've nailed a horn on the washing-machine 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I Ve filled the tub full of best gasoline : 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

92 



Now when I turn the little round wheel 
In trying to make a clean record that 's real, 
It sounds just like an automobile: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

I played the millionaire the other day: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

By trying to give all my money away: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 




I threw most of it in the air, 
And watched it blow over everywhere, 
'T was a jolly fine sport, I must declare: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I made a snowball one day in July: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I placed it out in the warm sun to dry: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

But it was not the right brand of snow, 

For when I looked there in an hour or so, 

93 



All that I could find was the overflow: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I sleep with my head out the window at night 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 




I find it gives me such a good appetite: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

The other morning a storm took place 

As I lay there in slumber's embrace. 

When I awoke I had "rain in the face:" 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

94 



O, I am a hero, a hero brave : 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

Yes, a human life I once did save: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

A little woman who was very frail 

Was being crushed at a bargain sale. 

I yelled rats! and cleared the trail: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I once was arrested and put in jail: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 




But I bought a bucket and got out on bail: 

Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 
When I took a notion in a notion-store 
To heed a sign, sayin' "take this door," 
I had to put it back in its place once more: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I tried to steer an automobile: 

Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 
Something went wrong with the turning 
wheel : 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

95 



We left the pike and took to the wood, 
Killed a flock of cows, so I 've understood, 
But just for a start I think I did good: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 

I tried to live the simple life: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 







I put aside all worldly strife: 

Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 
But after following these simple ways 
I became so simple in a few days 
That every one would stop and gaze. 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

9 6 



Now anybody who can talk like this : 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy, 

Must surely have something amiss: 
Gee, but it 's great to be crazy. 

Of course they can not do any harm, 

So do n't get scared or cause alarm. 

They're only delegates for the funny farm: 
Gee, but it's great to be crazy. 



97 



DRESSED IN BROWN. 

You will find her wherever you might care 
to go 

'Round the town; 
She makes what would be called in slang 
terms, "A good show 

Worth a crown." 

On all the thoroughfares 

She puts on such great airs 

To attract the men's stares, 

Dressed in brown. 

She 's quite stylish in all you can't help but 
confess 

With a frown; 
For it shows much good taste to select such 
a dress 

Called a gown. 
She will hold her head high 
Till you 'd think that she 'd try 
To be sensibly shy 

Dressed in brown. 

9 8 



It 's a nice shade of cloth, yes, the latest of 

style, 

Not marked down; 

She has had it made up by a tailor worth 
while 

Of renown. 

So when now on the street 
This young lady you meet, 
You remark, "How petite 
Dressed in brown." 



90 



MY FLOWER. 

God's flowers are not all one kind, 

Our hearts must choose those we like best, 

And passing leave them grow behind 
Which in us wake no interest. 

He made one flower to grow so fair 
Beside the way which I came down 

That when I found it blooming there, 
My heart leaped to it with a bound. 

I longed to call it all my own; 

I asked for it with fond caress ; 
A gentle breeze from heaven blown, 

Waved its young head to answer, Yes. 

O, how its beauty cheered my heart, 
Its perfume lulled my every sense, 

Each hour I lived from it apart 
Was to me one long suspense. 

Then came the time when God saw right 
To take from me my precious gem, 

To turn my day into a night; 
To pull the flower from its stem. 

ioo 



Alone I sit as friends pass by, 
Each constant to his chosen love, 

And wonder if again shall I 
Find my fair flower up above. 

Will Heaven ever let me hold 
The fragrant beauty of my rose, 

To love and fondle as of old 
The little flower which I chose. 



IOI 



WHEN I WAS A KID. 

When I was a kid, what did I care 
About the proper clothes to wear; 
An old straw hat, a home-made shirt, 
Torn more or less, and worse for dirt; 
Shoes 'bout half gone around the toes, 
A knee hole worn in both my hose ; 
A pair of pants patched where I slid 
Down cellar doors, when I was a kid. 

When I was a kid, what did I care 
If a comb never passed through my hair, 
And taking time to wash my face, 
Why, such a thing was out of place. 
'Cause goodness knows a little dirt 
A feller gets aint goin' to hurt. 
When company came I run and hid; 
I was n't missed, when I was a kid. 

When I was a kid, that 's some time back, 
A good appetite I never did lack, 
Jam and jelly, iced cake and pie, 
Roasted turkey, O me! O my! 
102 



I 'd eat and eat, just like a toad, 
Until I thought I would explode, 
But it was n't long 'fore it was rid, 
And I wanted more, when I was a kid. 

When I was a kid, yes, just a kid, 
Sometimes I did n't do as I was bid. 
My pa, he had a big strong knee 
That seemed to fit right under me. 
In this position it took not long 
To prove to me that I was wrong, 
For he was handy, and what he did 
To me was plenty, when I was a kid. 




103 



EVENING. 

AGED friend, the light of your long day 
Slowly, slowly fades away; 
And now like one who stands upon 
The hills and looks back to the dawn 
Across a broad and misty vale 
Of things forgotten, you can trail 
Those paths known best to you, for all 
The sweets of memory they recall. 

In childhood's rambles over there, 
With flowers blooming everywhere, 
You little knew the time you spent 
Was golden for its pure content; 
And through the valley where the day 
Seemed brightest as you went your way 
Unthoughtful of all left behind, 
But striving on to quench the mind 
Of thirsting for a sweeter bit 
Than Earth had cared to lend to it. 

Then into passion's anxious lane, 
With all to lose, with all to gain ; 
Where vice plays tempter to the good 
And wrecks the promise of manhood, 

104 



You hastened on and on and on 
Towards that future which withdrawn 
Allowed you not to reach or see 
More than the cold reality. 

Thus through the ever winding aisles 
With sorrow's sting or pleasure's smiles 
With love to soothe, with hope to cheer, 
With pain to bear, with sin to fear, 
On, on a-past the marble tiers 
Which mark the calendar of years, 
Until the shadows come to bless 
You with a peaceful quietness, 
As now you linger here and wait 
The opening of yon Heaven gate, 
Which holds for you a cup distilled 
Of perfect joy for all fulfilled 
Here on the earth where God knew best 
The lessons you should learn to test 
The strength of soul, which in the name 
Of Death he shortly will reclaim. 



105 



THE FACE THE FAIRIES 
FORMED. 

A BAND of fairies decided one day 

To model a new little baby that lay 

All bundled up, and ribbon tied, 

In a pretty white bed, at its mother's side. 

So getting their tools they started to work 

With here a soft pressure and there a slight 

jerk, 
A pinch of a finger, a pull at the nose, 
A rub on the backbone, a twist of the toes, 
For in every spot which showed a defect 
They lost not a minute to make it correct. 
While baby slept on as babies will do, 
Awakening at times to consent with a coo, 
As if there was aught in such a weak cooing 
To alter the task which the fairies were doing. 

So days went by and the noiseless band 
Of busy imps from fairyland 
Worked steadily on by day and night, 
But always keeping out of sight 
When curious people came and went 
To see the child and pass comment 

1 06 



Upon the work which they had done 
In shaping up this little one. 

To some were given all the care 
Of picking out a shade of hair, 
While others who, more apt and wise, 
Were busy with selecting eyes : 
An artist skilled with paint and brush 
Took on himself to make the flush 
Upon each cheek and red the tips 
Around the corners of both lips, 
While just below upon the chin 
Some scamp had pushed a dimple in 
And then this naughty little one 
Not content with mischief done, 
Shy and cautiously the sneak 
Gouged a dimple in each cheek. 

'Twas not long before a change 

Had made the baby look quite strange, 

And as the years pass in a whirl 

This baby grew into a girl 

That everybody loved because 

She was so free from any flaws, 

And even birds would come and sit 

Beside her for the longest bit, 

While bees and bugs and beetles swarmed 

To see the face the fairies formed. 



107 



HIS MOTHER'S FACE. 

THE baby looked up from the cradle, 

And seeing her, he smiled; 
For she was his own dear mother, 

And he, her only child: 
They were happy, alone there together, 

The infant robed in lace, 
Contented to be just where he could see 

The smile of his mother's face. 

5 T is noon ; school 's out and the children 

Shout it in wild alarms, 
As through the open door he springs once 
more 

Into his mother's arms: 
Here consoled, here advised, here protected 

In this loving embrace, 
A smile that is known to come from heaven 
alone 

Hallows his mother's face. 

Grown to manhood, with duty telling 

Him now that he must part; 
They stand together in the old doorway, 

Both with an aching heart. 

1 08 



She 's proud of her boy as into this world 

He goes to take his place, 
But he heaves a sigh, as he kisses good-bye 

His mother's tear-stained face. 

Back at home once again, but it is not the 
same 

Home that it was before, 
That sweet, kind voice, that dear old smile 

Can brighten it no more : 
All his hopes, all future, thoughts of else for- 
got 

As in grief he bows to trace 
A smile of that great eternal life 

On his mother's cold dead face. 



109 



AT MECHILE. 

The night was dark, the rain beat down, 

The tempest raged so high, 
The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed 

Across the clouded sky, 
The train was speeding swiftly on, 

Each minute meant a mile, 
When a woman raised the window 

And shouted, "Where's Mechile?" 
Where's Mechile? The conductor asked 
her 

As the train flew on so fast, 
"Why, good woman, that 's the station 

Which we just now have passed." 
"Back, back this train," she loudly cried, 

"Back, back this train, I say." 

The engineer reversed the lever, and went 
the other way. 
When they had gone some fourteen miles 

To where they reached the town, 
The woman gave a sigh of relief 

As she shut the window down, 

no 



And taking from a satchel near 

A sugar-coated pill, 
Between her lips she let it slip, 

And then sat very still: 
When the trainmen rushed to find her 

She met them with a smile, 
Saying, "O, I thank you kindly, gentlemen, 

I was to take one at Mechile." 



in 



MY MOTHER'S WEDDING-DAY. 

JUST forty years ago to-day 

A bride came down the broad hall stair, 
The sun that beamed across her way 

Seemed to smile in its golden glare, 
As it touched a curl and a crimson flush 

Upon her cheek, where purity 
Of womanhood burned forth a blush 

With happy heart throbs fast and free; 
No anger's frown nor wrinkled care 

Could find a depth to anchor in 
Or dim the light of two eyes fair 

Which held that seriousness within 
Of Love's own dream, which seemed to tell 

Of earth's desirings gratified; 
And though the lash which quickly fell 

Across the eye could never hide 
That consciousness of pure delight 

Which comforted when it had smiled 
Its surplus joy, then taking flight 

Drops soulward, fully reconciled; 
She was as fair a queen that day 

As ever graced the richest throne, 
Or caused her subject to make way 

As she advancing, walked alone, 

112 



For down into the whirling throng 

With laughter ringing everywhere 
Throughout the halls, its merry song, 

And jolly good cheer in the air; 
She came, so beautiful to see, 

To give for better or for worse 
That gift of Heaven's purity 

To mankind's bond of universe. 
And as the sacred knot was tied 

Which bound two souls in equal fate, 
A little song bird just outside 

Turned and whispered to his mate; 
Then flying to a tree top where 

Could best be heard his roundelay, 
He gave out to the silent air 

A sweet "God bless your wedding-day." 

Yes, that was many years ago ; 

But still to-night a man and wife 
Sit in the fire light's cheery glow 

And turn the pages of their life 
Backward to where their love began, 

With two united hearts which went 
A winding path that slowly ran 

Through shade and shine until content 
Has left them with an ebbing flame 

Beneath the locks of mingled gray, 
But where the smile comes just the same 

As on my mother's wedding-day. 

ii3 



IT ALL COMES RIGHT IN THE 

END. 

THERE 's an old saying I have heard 
For many years, though not a word 
Sounds any worse off for the wear 
Which they have often had to bear 
In helping to console some one 
Who perhaps a wrong had done, 
And now repenting, finds a friend 
In saying, "It all comes right in the end." 

The mother, emblem of all good 
Who patiently has long withstood 
The thoughtlessness of younger years, 
Where wayward steps have caused the 

tears 
So oft to flow, now finds relief 
In reconciling all her grief 
By faith, in that all shadows blend 
Into the brightest, near the end. 

All weightiness of pain and care 
That each of us has had to bear 

114 



Within the little while we stay, 
Appears that it might overweigh 
Those hours when we felt the stress 
Of pure unconscious happiness, 
But life has yet to find the trend 
When everything comes right in the end. 

Yes, everything before it ends 
Must balance as our God intends, 
The hope which long withheld defeat 
Will gratify itself complete, 
And all the dreams that Fancy drew 
Will answer for not coming true; 
The tear will dry ; the heart will mend 
And everything come right in the end. 



115 



PARTING. 

COULD the heart but see the heart now before 
this word "Forever" 

Causes either lips to part, and the last frail 

strands we sever; 
Could the soul but see the soul as we say this 

last good-bye, 
And the hand the hand but hold, and the eye 

look to the eye. 
For the past has been a harp where the idle 

fingers laid, 
Until we woke the dream of the player, then 

he played 
Those low sweet strains of love while together 

we would smile; 
Only now to pay the tear to an endless after- 
while. 
For the harpist, he is gone and the strings 

lie broke in twain, 
While the music that he played will never 

sound again, 
The rose has faded brown as the roses oft will 

die, 
But it was all for the best, so "GOD BLESS 

You," and good-bye. 

116 



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